


The Iceman Cometh

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Magyar fordítás elérhető | Hungarian translation available, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1642115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward finally comes after Anita. With a roadside motel as their battleground, who will be the last man standing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Iceman Cometh

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Magyar available: [Itt a Mumus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13458468) by [Xaveri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaveri/pseuds/Xaveri)



> So, this was my first Anita Blake fic- I hope I didn't completely slaughter it.  
> The requested details were: "The fic all of fic all's - Edward and Anita size one another for THE fight of the century. VIOLENCE, lots of it, blood, angst, and sex. Hard NC-17"  
> And while it wasn't very heavy in angst and would not be what I would call the "fic of all fics", I hope I did okay for you! Merry Christmas and all that jazz!  
> Thanks to for the quick beta- any remaining problems are my own, since I had to rush the end.
> 
> Written for rejeneration

 

 

The Iceman Cometh

It's funny, the things you're thankful for on a case by case basis. For most people, it's the usual things- your job,  
your health, that new car you just bought, maybe your family, if you're one of the lucky ones. Some people are  
thankful for the little things, like a well-placed bathroom or the extra quarter that's in your car just when you need it.

Me? Right now, at this particular moment, I'm thankful for this ice machine I'm pressed up against. Because if it  
wasn't for it, I'd be in a world of hurt. Not the I-sprained-my-ankle-so-get-me-some-ice hurt, but the if-I-didn't-  
have-this-ice-machine-for-cover-I'd-be-full-of-bullets hurt.

Ice turned out to be more useful than ever imagined.

It's weird how fast your evening can go to shit. Isn't that always the way, though? You never see the really bad stuff  
coming...it just happens. One minute you're working on a case in Kansas, checking into a little roadside motel to  
get some shut-eye before you pass while driving, and the next, you're dodging the bullets of someone you've trusted  
with your life multiple times.

I envy people whose idea of a bad day is when their car breaks down and they're late for their pencil-pushing job.

I press my back into the metal of my frosty savior, the weird contrast of heat from the machine and the cool from its  
product making me shiver. It also does nothing to soothe my nerves...which are, fortunately, more shot to hell than I  
am. The spot where a bullet grazed me burns, but not nearly as much as it would have if I were still normal. Well, as  
normal as an animator ever could be...

Breathe in, breathe out. I try to delude myself with motivational speech. You know, something like "Come on,  
Anita- you've faced worse than this." And it's even true. As good as my opponent is, he's no match for some of the  
things I've faced and taken down.

Not one of them scared me shitless the way Edward does.

I can't say I'm surprised to be here in this position, pressed up against the concrete wall with only an ice machine  
between me and an assassin. Startled, at the place and time, perhaps, but not surprised. I knew it was only a matter  
of time before Edward and I faced off. He'd as much as promised me that we would get a chance to find out who  
was the best one day. And, oh, goody...looks like today's the day.

My mind is racing, trying to figure a way out of here that doesn't involve a body bag for either of us. I'm completely  
out, so I re-holster the browning. It's useless, since I know Edward won't be fooled. That leaves my knives, and all  
my "natural" weapons.

"Come on, Anita." I jump a little when his voice breaks the quiet, then chide myself. This is Edward...you know  
Edward.

Yes, I do...that's why I jumped, I tell myself.

"You might as well come out- you can do anything hiding over there." The coward is implied, and I hear it quite  
nicely.

I've always liked that about Edward. He doesn't waste time with bullshit...or unnecessary chitchat. He's knows I'm  
out of ammo, and I know that he knows- so he doesn't say it. In the middle of this conflict, it's something that I  
appreciate, both the mannerism as well as the respect for me. The fact that he's not moving in for the kill also shows  
the respect he has for me. Either that, or he's planning something particularly nasty.

I really wish I hadn't just had that thought.

Stalling for time seems like a good idea, so I decide to start up a dialogue. "What are you doing, Edward? You have  
a reason for this, or did you just get bored?" I shout out at him while wiping the sweat off my forehead.

"Do I need a reason anymore? You know what I hunt...and you know what you are..." is his matter-of-fact answer,  
his voice strong and sure.

Ouch. "Gee, Eddie, I think you just hurt my feelings." Actually, he kind of did. It may be true, but you know what  
they say...the truth hurts.

I doubt I'll be able to talk Edward down, and shooting the breeze with a homicidal sociopath isn't exactly my idea of  
fun for a Friday night...even if it happens more often than you'd think. But right now, my other options seem pretty  
unappealing.

Ah, Hell with it- I always was a woman of action. If there's one thing I know about Edward, it's that he likes his  
kills to be up close and personal. I can just hope that that works to my advantage now.

Steeling my resolve, I step out from around the my buddy the ice machine, knowing that the lighting will let him see  
me before I can see him. Out in the open now, I half expect to hear the shot that will end this...but it never comes.  
Feeling a little more confident, I step out into the parking lot, pulling a knife as I go.

He's just standing there, no cover, and obviously not concerned. He's serious, though...I can tell in the way that he's  
holding himself. He's also smiling. Just because he's taking me seriously doesn't mean he's not enjoying the Hell  
out of this...

I kind of want to punch it off his face. I reassure myself with the thought that I'll probably get the chance.

I walk within twenty feet of him before I stop. We eye each other up for a moment...no rush now that we've decided  
to go hand-to-hand. There's blood leaking from his shoulder- I was pretty sure I had clipped him. Considering the  
situation, I'm not too sympathetic, and definitely not feeling guilty about it. I don't see his guns, but I know he has  
them on. That might work in my advantage later, if we get up close and personal, and if I get very, VERY lucky.

His eyes are devouring me, and I can tell that he's waited for this moment for a long, long time. He's savoring it. I  
allow it. After all, it's either his last request or a little longer for me to live; seems like a win-win to me. Apparently,  
though, my nerves aren't as patient as I am.

"Okay, enough bullshit. You want me? Come and get me." His eyes answer me even as he doesn't. I guess he  
figures waiting is pointless between predators like us. He strikes first, and I block him easily. For all that Edward is,  
he is still only human. That's something that I can't even claim anymore, and tonight, it may save my life.

The kicks and blows come rapidly, and the familiar rhythm takes me over. Instinct and training flow through me,  
and my world narrows to the man in front of me. He manages to score a kick to my ribs, but I hold onto my knife.  
The next shot is mine, and I put a nasty gash into his chest. His face scrunches up in an odd sort of way, like he just  
sucked on a lemon, but he kind of liked it despite the sour taste.

Our fight continues, the dirt of the parking lot kicking up a cloud around us as our feet shuffle from stance to stance.  
I begin to wonder if Edward is trying to kill me, or use me to commit suicide. Surely, he must understand that it  
would be almost impossible to kill me barehanded. As it stands, I'm barely sporting bruises, and he's looking more  
and more like a vampire's buffet. If he was serious, he'd pull his gun.

I aim a kick to his head, but he ducks, and my foot slams into the side of a truck, shattering the passenger window.  
He rises and spins, his elbow slamming into my temple. I see stars, but don't go down. It's enough time, though, for  
him to pull a knife and shove it through my forearm as I raise my arm to block.

Fuck. Now THAT hurts. I'm starting to get pissed, and I can feel my beast rolling around inside. It wants out, to  
rend and tear and eliminate. I hold it back...mostly. When Edward comes at me, I growl and grab him, and calling  
on my strength, throw him through the window of one of the motel's rooms.

I take a moment to breathe as the some of the remaining glass shudders and falls, the soft tinkle of impact deafening  
in the silence of the night. Although throwing him through a plane of glass felt pretty good at the time, I was  
beginning to regret it. By doing so, I changed the rules of the game. He's on new ground, and he's out of my line of  
sight.

I inch forward, ready for anything. Peering slowly into the room, I'm ready when a pair of hands reach out and grab  
me. We spin into the room, grappling, each trying to get the better hold on the other. Our motion ends when my  
back hits the wall, sending the horrible framed painting crashing to the floor.

I feel the cold metal of the barrel of his gun pressing against my forehead the same moment my blade finds its place  
against his throat. We're perfectly still, our extra hands fisted in each other's shirts, and I can feel his knee wedged  
in between my legs. His breath his hot on my face, and our eyes are locked. We both know that whatever happens  
next, it will be the eyes that will reveal it...

Seconds pass to minutes, and we're so still that we could be some kind of bizarre modern sculpture. His blood seeps  
through my fingers and drips to the ground. I can almost hear the plop as it hits the ugly carpet.

I don't know what changes in his mind...after all, he's a sociopath- the whole point is that they don't think like  
normal people. But something in him just clicks. One moment, he's ready, willing, and able to blow my brains out,  
and the next, the gun is across the room and he's trying to remove my fillings by sucking on my mouth.

Shocked and aroused, I feel the knife fall from my fingers, certain that I can snap his neck in a second if this proves  
to be a ploy. I don't believe it is, though...Edward doesn't work that way, so I doubt he fucks that way, either. He  
presses against me, flattening me into the wall as he strokes my tongue with his. A moan builds up inside me, and I  
can feel myself starting to feed off him.

Actions blur together, a jumble of caresses and bite marks and ripping clothes, and it isn't long before he's got my  
legs around him and he's inside me, thrusting in hard, even strokes. I claw at his back as I arch my own, trying to get  
closer and move away from him all at the same time.

The heat builds in me, and I watch him through half-lidded eyes. He's beautiful and feral, more so than any of my  
other lovers...and many of them are were-animals. There's sweat dripping from his bangs, and he gives me a look I  
can't decipher before he lifts me higher against the wall and buries his face into my breasts.

My body is buzzing, and I can feel myself approaching orgasm. As if he could sense it approaching, Edward  
quickens his pace, grabbing my legs and spreading them wider as he pumps into me. I come, moaning long and low,  
and he follows, sucking in a shuddering breath. He drops to his knees, and with my support gone, I follow. Stunned,  
I just concentrate on breathing, as does Edward.

We sit for a while before I struggle to my feet, his come escaping to run down my thigh. If Edward's any indication,  
I don't even want to see what I look like right now. I make my way to the bathroom, and even manage to avoid  
looking in the mirror.

My mind is strangely blank as I clean myself up. I figure I'll have some sort of panic attack later. As I put my hand  
on the handle, I realize that I'm trusting Edward to not blow my brains out the second I walk out the door. As much  
as I wanted to be paranoid, I just didn't get the vibe that that was his plan, so I sucked it up and walked out.

Edward's gone, the room empty except for the mess left behind. I try to decide how I feel about that, only to find  
myself strangely unattached to my emotions at the moment. I felt displaced, as if I was walking through a living  
dream. Shrugging, I find my knife and make my way out of the room.

I let myself into my newly acquired, never used room and clean myself up better as I wait for the cops. I might be in  
the boondocks, but sooner or later, the police will come to check out whatever reports of gunfire were placed. It's  
times like this that I'm grateful for my federal marshal status.

When I finish cleaning up and changing, I stand in the middle of the room in a dazed sort of wonder. I'm really not  
looking forward to the emotional fall-out of this little adventure when it finally hits me. For a second, I entertain the  
thought of calling Jean-Claude, or maybe Micah and Nathaniel, but I don't think I could handle that conversation  
just yet.

Instead, I just sit on the bed and wait, and try and figure out when my life became like a bad assassin flick.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into Hungarian | Magyar kindly created by Xaveri:  
> https://www.fanfic.hu/merengo/viewstory.php?sid=135080


End file.
